


a hand to hold

by fantasticfables



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasticfables/pseuds/fantasticfables
Summary: Forearms are not that special of a body part, anyways.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 94





	a hand to hold

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot was the first thing I ever wrote, and in retrospect it is very corny and somewhat amateurish, but it hold a very special place in my heart. hope you enjoy.

The first time that Draco regards his forearm as anything special, he is sixteen, and he couldn’t be more proud of himself.  
  
He had done it. He had endured the pain of the mark, tearing apart and crawling inside his bones, the Dark Lord’s hand abnormally white and unbearably tight on his wrist. And Draco had closed his eyes, breathed through clenched teeth, and took it.  
  
The Dark Lord smiles at him, a predatory smile that makes Draco’s insides freeze, and pats his back.  
  
His mother doesn’t smile at him, which angers him. Hadn’t she always wanted the best for him? He’s making his father proud, he’s becoming the next man of the family- he’s doing this for her, can’t she see?  
  
No mind; he’d make her proud, too.  
  
***

the first time that Draco had to really think about what it all actually meant, he was seventeen.  
  
_She’s torturing her!_ He shouts, fighting his mother’s grip. She doesn’t relent, instead pressing him deeper into the broom closet.  
  
_I know; that’s what she does_. Her mother answers, like it’s nothing, like it’s normal.  
  
_Its granger, mother! I know her!_ He shouts again. The closet is doing nothing to silence the sounds, so high and loud enough for Draco to want to hug his head- cut his ears off, _anything_.  
  
_Didn’t you always hate her because she was better than you?_ Mother says, and Draco wants to scream in her face, _that doesn’t matter, that never mattered, she’s being tortured, don’t you get it?_  
  
But she doesn’t let him. She says, _would you rather be in her place?_ And when he opens his mouth to answer, says again, _would you rather it be me?_ And that shuts him up. Because as much as he hates the screams, he loves his mother more.  
  
_You’re going to get out there, and you’re going to behave. She’s going to get suspicious if we’re both gone._ She says.  
  
_What if I run away with them? What if I help them?_ Draco asks boldly, and he expects to be slapped right then.  
  
Mother, instead, looks at him with pity. _The Dark Lord will know where you are going, he will know where they are going. Where would you- where would they run to?_

And she’s right. She’d always been right.  
  
***

(Bellatrix moves with a deadly precision, her arm tight against Granger’s throat, _move and we’ll see how filthy her blood really is._ Is that what mudblood had meant, all these years? Draco doesn’t resist when Potter’s hand closes around the wands, their eyes locking for a fraction of a second that drags on and on like an infinity.)

***

the first time he thinks about living with his arm for the rest of his life, he’s eighteen.  
  
He’s on house arrest. It’s a reduced, mere one year sentence, and Draco thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Well, _knows_.  
  
The screams keep echoing in his ears, Granger’s. he hadn’t heard anybody else, mad witch never brought her victims to the manor, save from the times she got so bored that she decided to suddenly quiz Draco on occlumancy, and maybe even mess with him, _playing_ , as she’d put it.  
  
_Tell me, Draco. Why are you afraid all the time?  
I’m not, aunt Bella.  
Lying, sweetheart. Do you have anything to hide, Draco?  
Not really, aunt Bella. If I thought anything was important I’d tell you, aunt Bella.  
_  
He wants it _off_. He wants the mark _off_ , but he doesn’t know how to take it off. He’d been too much of a coward to cut it out with the knife, giving up at a pathetically small line, biting his father’s 200 galleons belt that tastes like wood and disgust. The skull is laughing at him, and Draco has never hated anything so much in his life.  
  
The idea sparks in his head, and before he knows it, he’s doing it.  
The knife slides doubtlessly on his skin.  
  
One neat line; on the fangs of the snake.  
One neat line; the exact edge where skull becomes snake.  
One neat line; crossing the skull’s eyes.  
  
Draco knows that this isn’t harming himself, as in the sense of enslaving pain to be relieved, an illusion of penance. That’s not what he’s doing. Besides, he doesn’t deserve to be relieved, not really.  
  
No; this is a _statement_. The skull doesn’t seem to be laughing, now. Draco feels faintly smug.  
  
Blood is slowly covering his hand, but it’s his own, so it doesn’t burn on his skin.  
Draco imagines some of Granger’s screams are seeping out, washing away- washing away anything in its wake.  
He leans his head back, and rests it on the cold stone.  
  
The quiet of his mind is temporary and the night is long.  
  
***  
the first time that he shows the mark to anyone, he’s nineteen and it’s to Granger.  
  
Draco is trying to apologize. Not to everyone - he’d never be able to - but the ones he’d been horrible to the most. He started with Longbottom, then Ginevra weasley, and now, Hermione granger.  
  
Neville and Ginny were kind to him, kind enough for them to be on a first name basis, now. Draco sent Ginny a card for her team’s latest victory, and Neville a few rare observations about the plants he’s studying that Draco has found in the manor library.  
  
Granger, however, has absolutely no reason to forgive him. In fact, she probably won’t. He prays that she’d at least listen to him.  
  
Which is why he’s gone out of his way. He has a bouquet of flowers, yellow and pink, and a couple of books he thinks granger would like. A book on loopholes in wizengamot law, a book on history of creature activism in the Italian ministry - the first ministry to grant citizenship to goblins and domesticate trolls - and a book on house elves. All of them are rare copies from the library at manor, and Draco had practically had to fight his father to take them. He thinks father would throw himself out of a window if he knew Draco is giving them to Granger.  
  
And so he holds the bouquet and the books in one hand, and knocked in three strikes that were too loud, and let his hand drop, his heart in his throat.  
  
_Coming!_ Granger says from inside the office, opening the office door a minute later.  
  
She stares at Draco. Draco stares back. And then she closes the door in his face.  
  
_Wait!_ Draco says hurriedly, putting his foot in the door. _Give me a minute!_  
  
_No._ granger says coldly  
  
_please! You don’t even have to answer, just listen!_ Draco pleads.  
  
It’s then that granger sees the flowers Draco’s holding. Her eyes widen in surprise and confusion and her grip on the door lessens, and Draco uses the opportunity to slip inside the room.  
  
He slowly puts the book on Grangers work desk - she’d been having lunch, judging from the half eaten box next to her paperwork - and rests the bouquet just next to them.  
  
_I… uh_ \- why is he stuttering? This is fine, he can do it. - _I wanted to apologize.  
_  
Granger is looking at him and Draco returns the gaze, but she doesn’t say anything. Draco continues.  
  
_For… well, everythinh. all the years that I was a git to you in school, and all the times I called you mu- things I shouldn’t have called you - or anyone else. And for making fun of you. That happened on numerous occasions.  
_  
_We were children._ Granger says, but her voice is still cold.  
  
_I’m sorry for becoming a death eater._ He says, and it’s the hardest part.  
  
_Why did you?_ She asks.  
  
_I… I don’t know. Wanted to make my parents proud, at first. Feared for my life and theirs, the rest of it.  
_  
Granger looks away from him. Draco doesn’t stop talking.  
  
_So yes, I’m sorry about all of it, and I regret it. I thought you should know that.  
_  
_Show me the mark_ , granger says suddenly.  
  
_What?_ Draco asks, panicked.  
  
_Show. Me. the mark._ Granger repeats, and her eyes are locked in Draco’s, sharper than a knife’s edge.  
  
He doesn’t want to. He really _really_ doesn’t want to, but he owes a lot to Granger, so he swallows his protest and opens his shirt cuff, pulling the sleeve of his coat up with it.  
  
The mark is as wretched as it always is, scar-like, a black twisting blotch on his pale skin. The scars stand out, silvery white.  
  
Granger takes his wrist, held upwards, and trails a finger on the mark. Draco flinches.  
  
_This didn’t happen to the other death eaters,_ she says thoughtfully, _trailing her finger along the thin white lines.  
_  
_This has nothing to do with the mark._ Draco says, and something about his vice is so bitter that granger suddenly drops his hand, evidently understanding what the scars are.  
  
_I’m sorry, I thought-_ granger starts.  
  
_It’s alright. It doesn’t matter._ Draco says, interrupting her. He buttons the cuff again, dragging the sleeves down, granger sheepishly looking away from him.  
  
Her eyes suddenly catch the books on her table. She gasps. _Oh! Is that Margarethe Evades’ A History of Creatures?  
_She doesn’t wait for Draco’s answer, shooting for the book and inspecting it. _Where did you find this? I’ve been looking everywhere!  
_  
_The manor library. I thought you’d like it._ Draco says, glad that the subject’s changed.  
  
_Like it? Who cares about that, this could help me in my case for house elves against wizengamot.  
  
Yeah, I thought so,_ Draco says. She looks up.  
  
_You’ve been following my work?_ She asks.  
  
Draco can properly look her in the eyes, now. _Yes. It’s good work. You’ll win eventually_.  
  
Granger smiles a self-satisfied little grin, and looks down to the books again.  
  
There’s silence again, but it’s comfortable this time. Draco prepares to say goodbye when granger suddenly speaks up.  
  
_You could get something tattooed around it, you know_ , and she looks up, her eyes piercing.  
  
Draco chokes on air. _I’ve had my fair share of marks, I believe._  
  
Granger shakes her head. _But it would be you, this time_.  
  
Draco fights the urge to say _the scars are me_ , and he succeeds. Granger sees it, he thinks, but she doesn’t say anything.  
  
It’s only after Draco’s out of her office that he can breathe again.  
  
***  
the first time Draco thinks that he doesn’t care about the mark, it’s because Ron weasley forces him to.  
  
He’s in the pub, and hes trying to get up the courage to apologize to weasley. It’s been a few weeks since his encounter with Granger, and he thinks he’s ready now.  
  
And that’s why he taps on Ronald’s shoulder and gently drags him to a corner in the pub.  
  
Weasley is slightly tipsy, but not tipsy enough to not recognize Draco instantly.  
  
_Malfoy_. He says coldly, surveying him.  
  
_Weasly_. Draco says, trying to inject some warmth in his voice. _Can I buy you a round?  
_  
_No_. Weasley answers roughly, _what do you want?  
_  
This got a hell of a lot harder, Draco thinks, but he just says it.  
  
_I wanted to apologize._  
  
Weasley is visibly startled. He hasn’t expected that, evidently.  
  
_What?  
  
I said I wanted to apologize.  
  
What for?  
_  
_Well, for starters, being a git to you all those years in school. For the time I almost poisoned you, for the time when I made fun of your mother_ -Shame always filled Draco at the mention of that- _just, anytime I made fun of you and your family.  
_  
Weasley arches an eyebrow and stares.  
  
Draco continues, _and for letting the death eaters into the school. Greyback scarred your brother’s face, I’m sorry about that.  
_  
_And for trying to give Harry up?  
_  
Draco scowls. _That’s what I need to apologize to potter for, not you.  
_  
_What about the time you made fun of my broken wand?  
_  
Draco shrugs. _Yeah, that, too. It was stupid and childish. I’m sorry.  
_  
Ronald is staring at him. _And the last time in the battle, pleading with a death eater?  
_  
Draco remembers what Weasley means. _No. I refuse to apologize for that.  
_  
Weasley makes a curious expression.  
  
Draco glares. _I was trying to find my parents, you prat. He was stopping me and I knew mother had no wand - I didn’t have any, either. I just wanted him to get out of the way so I could keep looking.  
_  
Weasley stares at him, and then to Draco’s utter surprise, says, _I’m sorry that I punched you, then._  
  
And then his face breaks into a grin. _And for calling you amazing bouncing ferret for a month.  
_  
Draco scowls, but he’s happy that weasley has accepted his apology. He feels so much lighter _. Well, I can admit that it was a little funny. But not as much as how all of you were having fun with it.  
  
_Weasley laughs, _you were a git, you deserved it.  
_  
Draco scowls again, but he can’t help the small smile that crawls onto his lips.  
  
_So Malfoy_ , Weasley starts, _what do you think about the upcoming quidditch champion league?  
_  
Draco thought that he’d want to stop talking to Draco as soon as possible. But then again, Weasley seems to be full of surprises.  
  
_Well, …_ and he starts talking.  
  
(As it turns out, he and weasley have a lot in common regarding views on quidditch.)  
  
***  
  
(Draco did take Granger’s advice. he wasn’t brave enogh to do it alone, so Luna went with him, bringing a flower encyclopedia with her and suggesting increasingly absurd flowers one after another. she makes him laugh more than she actually helps him, but he’s relaxed when George Weasley sets the wand to his forearm.  
he walks out with the mark still there, but surrounded with Narcissi and daisies and sunflowers and Cornelias. Luna doesn’t care that it needs to be bare for the tattoo to settle, and crashes at his flat, laughing at his cooking skills and suggesting increasingly ridiculous use of his Auror gear scattered around.)  
  
***  
  
the first time that he can’t quite care about the mark, he’s twenty-two.  
  
Harry has this weird habit of trailing his fingers on him. Draco suspect it’s a subconscious thing, but he’s never asked.  
  
Harry’s favorite is when Draco is reading something, lying on the couch. He grabs his own book and flops himself stomach first onto Draco, tangling their legs and most of the times knocking Draco’s book askew. Draco always nags about it, but he knows that Harry knows that he loves it. And then, Harry’s finger trail under his shirt and move slowly. He’s not trying to tickle. He’s not trying to be sexual either. It’s like he just likes the reminder that Draco is there.  
  
It always makes Draco disoriented. On his worse days - which are a lot - he knows that he’s not worth it, but Harry is stubborn, so Draco merely tries to keep up with him and give back as good as he gets.  
  
And what he gets is _so good_ \- _Harry_ is so good, Draco doesn’t know what he did to deserve him.  
  
He tells that to Harry, sometimes, and Harry always laughs. _There’s just something about you in auror robes interrogating a dark wizard_ , Harry says with a smile, _the same something about you when you’re playing with teddy, or deep in a potions book, or making that horrible omelet for me. You’re better than you think you are.  
_  
Draco always whacks him, here, _if I don’t make you that oh-so-horrible omelet you’re going to starve to death_ , conveniently ignoring the last part. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel warm, where he suspects his heart would be.  
  
And so they go on, and just so, Harry is here, right now.  
  
They’re lying in bed, and Draco is trying to study. Harry is supposedly already finished, and his chin rests on Draco’s stomach. He’s deep in thought, his hands trailing again.  
  
_It doesn’t define you, you know_. He suddenly pipes up.  
  
_What doesn’t?_ Draco asks absentmindedly.  
  
_You know. The mark_. Harry says.  
  
That makes Draco stop, wondering why exactly Harry is thinking about that, before suddenly remembering the day’s suspect. A dark wizard that seemed to see himself so much higher than Draco, claiming that nothing about Draco would ever be better than what is on his forearm. Draco hadn’t paid him any mind.  
  
_You’re getting worked up over nothing, love_. Draco says, keeping his eyes on his book, though he is very aware of all the places Harry is touching.  
  
Harry does a half shrug. _What he said really bothered me. You’re not defined by your forearm_.  
  
Draco hums, _oh, I am defined by my forearm, but not the mark_.  
  
Harry shoots up. _What?  
_  
Draco looks away from his book to Harry’s intense emerald eyes. _My forearm. Not the mark_. He repeats.  
  
_No. You’re not. That’s like saying my scar defines me_. And then he looks at Draco again. _Do you believe my scar defines me?  
_  
_Of course not!_ Draco says. He closes his book, and sits up. _Though it would have, if you had personalized it.  
_  
Harry stares at him with a confused pout. Draco smiles. _That’s what it is. A personalized tattoo.  
_  
Harry arches an eyebrow at that, and he has a hint of a smile on his lips. _The Dark Mark is a ‘personalised tattoo’?  
_  
Draco shrugs. _Isn’t that representative of the person I was before?_  
  
Harry’s eyes suddenly widen in understanding. _So the scars and the flowers make sense in a similar context?  
_  
_Yeah_ , Draco says.  
  
_I think the flowers represent you better_. Harry says with a smile. Draco wants to argue, but he really wants that smile to stay there. _I mean, flowers as pretentious as Narcissi and Cornelias. You’re ridiculous. Why lilies, though?  
_  
_Lilies?_ Draco asks, surprised. There weren’t any lilies, as far as he remembers.  
  
_Yeah?_ Harry says, turning Draco’s wrist upwards to gesture behind the head of the snake and then above the skull, where there are, in fact, several lilies in warm yellow.  
  
_Huh. I hadn’t seen those ones._ Draco wonders wether George did that on purpose; he and Harry were already getting closer at the time.  
  
_Well, they’re as beautiful as all the other ones. And hey! They suit you_. Harry says in a wonderful smile and a cheerful tone, and Draco has no option but to kiss him.

***

(Harry is right about them looking good. the lilies look exceptionally harmonic with the narcissi surrounding them.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are especially loved on this one because it's the first thing I wrote. I'd love for you to tell me what you think!


End file.
